Incorrigible Creatures
by Rogue Enigma
Summary: His mind was sharp and head unbowed. Her soul was numb. Inside his heart, the war was raging. She was the master of her fate and became the captain of his soul. Ashwood Mallory escapes the city that holds so many negative memories. Canada's wilderness called his name. What he did not expect was to be challenged by something more than just a harsh climate. Sequel to "The Schemer".
1. Dogs over Poses

"Do you see that guy?"

"What guy?"

"On your left. With a black sweater and sunglasses." A red-headed woman, probably in her mid-twenties, nudged her friend's, a gorgeous blonde's, leg underneath their table, trying to direct her attention to the said man. "He's been sitting there for as long as we have, and probably even longer because when we came, he was already there. Alone." The ginger wiggled her thin eyebrows, pointy nails drumming on the top of their table.

"You've been ogling him for two hours?" Complete indifference and boredom could be heard in her friend's breathy voice, and a pointed, indifferent look was thrown towards the man. The blonde's aquamarine gaze returned and immediately was thrown back again. Now she really took the man in, widening her black-lined eyes. "Damn you've got a good taste. First time for everything, I guess." Staring at him, the blonde did not notice a dirty look thrown her way.

"Yeah, well, observation is a quality not everyone is gifted with." The redhead retorted in a snarly tone, effectively bringing back her friend's attention from the male nearby.

She lifted one perfectly-shaped, light eyebrow. "Good to know. I was starting to worry about which point of your life you've lost it. Wouldn't want to repeat the same mistake." A slow smirk tore through her full, rosy lips, seeing the furious look that she was given. "C' mon, you know I am joking."

"Of course you are." The redhead mumbled underneath her breath, her beautiful green eyes returning to the man nearby. "Should we invite him or something...?"

"He is probably waiting for his date to show up. Such men do not sit in cafés alone."

"For two hours?" Disbelieving, the woman's tone rose an octave, scepticism clear. "Who in the world waits for his date for two whole hours?"

"I don't know. Perhaps he showed up early? Had some things to do beforehand? Or," The blonde shifted in her seat a little. "you could go and chat with him, Liz. Y'know, test the waters."

The ginger, Liz, gave her an annoyed look, which continued no longer than a few seconds. Her emerald orbs immediately shone with excitement, and lithe body straightened in its seat. "Why not? I might as well offer him some coffee. He doesn't have any." With renewed determination, she stood up and made her way towards the lonely figure, the blonde following her with an amused look on her face. Hips rolling from side to side, Liz straightened her white blouse underneath a leather jacket, making sure it accentuated her chest - small but bouncy. She reached the male, smiling brightly when he finally noticed her, rising up from his seat immediately. "Hey. Do you mind if I keep you company?" Not waiting for his response, she tugged a chair, lowering herself on it.

"No. Not... At all." The man muttered while sitting down, too, and his voice alone almost made Liz moan. You simply don't find such orgasmic voices that often. And it was just that, a voice worth to orgasm for. Low and deep, it came somewhere deep from his wide chest and had a hint of morning grogginess in it. The woman bit her lower lip, reminding herself to do it gently to not destroy her perfectly-applied lipstick. Red, of course, to complement her gorgeous hair colour.

"Could I get your name?" She smiled brightly, clenching her thighs together when the man gave her a tight smile of his own.

"Ashwood. Ashwood Mallory."

"Eliza Campbell." She stretched her manicured arm, allowing Ashwood to take her hand in his and squeeze gently, her touch lingering a little longer than necessary above the table. "But don't call me Eliza. Only my mother does when she's angry. For everyone else I'm Liz."

"Nice to meet you, Liz." Ashwood smiled once more, this time showing his model-perfect teeth. He brought his large hand to his face, taking off his sunglasses, and immediately narrowing his eyes. "Sorry. The light... I'm not used to such brightness."

"It's okay. I can see an outsider getting uncomfortable with our Canadian climate. Most people think it's dark and gloomy all year around, when truth is, we do get more than enough sun. Well, at least in this part of British Columbia. A little higher and the trees make it rather difficult to get a tan." She laughed light-heartedly, waiting for him to join her. But Ashwood just smiled politely in agreement. "So... An outsider, huh? Where are you coming from?"

"From far." The man indicated a certain finality, and Liz got the message. _Topic closed_. "What about you? Are you a native here, Liz?"

"Yeah, lived here all my life. Sucks not to know the world. The same faces mingling around and each day similar to yesterday. You know, routine." The ginger felt her face heat up. She knew she started to babble. But something about this man, Ashwood – and she was not sure what – made her feel at ease with herself. Maybe the way his gorgeous blue-green eyes gazed at her with précised seriousness, the way his luscious, bee-stung lips were pressed in a soft line, or perhaps his posture, non-verbally showing that he was listening and interested in what else she had to say. "I hate routine more than I hate anything else. It... I don't know. It kind of chokes me sometimes. Metaphorically, of course." Liz ended it with a gentle, sheepish smile, taking a glimpse at the man through her long eyelashes.

"Yeah, I know the feeling." Ashwood nodded, and the woman straightened in her seat.

"Do you?"

He lifted his eyebrows, amusement shining in his light orbs. "Of course. I would not live life if I didn't know what routine was, nor if I actually enjoyed it. It is good to have stable habits, don't get me wrong. But there is a limit that one should not overstep." He explained, leaning back in his chair, extending his long, jeans-covered legs underneath the table. One of them touched Liz's heeled foot, and she took in a sharp breath.

"You're... Very smart... Ashwood." She managed to get out, before clearing her throat, trying to get herself under control. "So... Is there a photoshoot in British Columbia, or are you simply on holidays? What made you come here?"

"A photo shoot?" He seemed sincerely surprised at her question, his long, angled eyebrows furrowing a tiny bit, making a thin line appear on his otherwise perfect forehead.

"Yeah, well, aren't you a model or something? I mean, I have never seen you on magazines, but I don't really read British stuff either, so..." Liz rubbed her thighs with her palms, getting a little uncomfortable under Ashwood's heavy gaze. "I assumed you're British. The accent."

"I guess I should be touched, but I'm not a model. Although yes, my origins are from Great Britain, over seven years I've been living outside my homeland. I do consider myself somewhat the result of mixing various cultures."

"A man with multiple origins. So mysterious." The woman grinned warmly, curiously. "I get you've been travelling a lot, then?"

Ashwood smiled, too, nodding his head once. Ash-blonde hair fell forward from the top of his head, longish strands resting on his forehead. Only now did Liz notice how soft those locks seemed, shining in the bright sunlight, falling with a natural wave. Unlike most men these days, he wore his hair in an old-fashioned, yet classic and complimenting style, leaving the head full of hair, without shaving any part of it completely. The sides seemed shorter, not hiding his ears, but the top strands were left rather long and unruly.

Liz focused, waking up from her day-dreaming of burrowing her fingers in his hair in the middle of their heated interaction. And almost regretted it, acknowledging the man's knowing, amused blue-green eyes watching her like a hawk.

"I've been travelling a lot indeed."

"Huh?"

His eyes were openly laughing at her, yet the man's voice remained politely neutral, its deep and husky nature never failing to hide his true emotions. "You assumed I've been travelling a lot. I confirmed your presumption."

"Oh. That." She cleared her throat again, cursing herself (and her friend, and every non-existent person around) for getting herself in this awkward situation. What was she thinking? Was Liz thinking _at all_ when she took the role of a temptress? A very _friend-_like, _platonic_ temptress? "Well, where have you been, if you could be more precise? As I have mentioned, my knowledge of foreign lands is extremely narrow. Like, non-existent."

Ashwood shrugged. "America. Europe. A few countries of Asia. Mostly work-related stuff. I've visited Australia during the Christmas holidays a few years back. It's mind-blowing Aussies celebrate Christmas when it's thirty degrees Celsius. I prefer our snowy winters."

"Well, I assure you, you will most definitely experience some _real_ winters here, in Canada. We are famous for that. Of course, if you intend to stay here for that long."

"I will, and I look forward to that. There is nothing better than to sit on a sofa in front of a fireplace late at night, staring at a huge Christmas tree and listen to the wind trying to break down the walls of your house. Besides, there is so much you can do during winter outside, in the mountains, too. "

Liz lifted her thin eyebrows, mindful of not keeping them up too high for too long. "Oh? So underneath that muscle armour of yours, you do have a soft heart? Secretly enjoying long winter evenings cuddling with your loved one? Hot chocolate and sugar cookies? Camping on a frozen lake, again, with a woman you love?"

Ashwood gave her a long, thoughtful look. "I agree with the 'loved one' part. But there is no need for it to be a woman." He watched Liz's eyes widen to enormous proportions, confusion morphing into disbelief until it transformed into the look of pure shock. "I mean, I would be fully satisfied having a dog pressed to my side, too. Sharing dog treats while I ate those sugar cookies, scratching his ears, murmuring sweet nothings to him. Women, unlike dogs, have their own opinions and preferences, they might be on a diet, therefore not being able to eat sweets nor dog treats, they might be grumpy and annoyed, get bored easily... Unless she was completely content with my wishes or we've reached a mutual compromise, I think a dog might be a better idea to spend Christmas with."

Liz's mouth was opening and closing, resembling a fish thrown into a desert. "I.. I mean... I thought... Oh." She let out an awkward giggle, trying hard to mask her relief. "Nevermind." The redhead waved her hand, voicelessly trying to stir Ashwood (and his attentive gaze at the same time) away from the topic. "So, uh, dogs. You like dogs or just the style?"

"Pardon?"

"Dogs! Do you like dogs? I mean, I love dogs! I prefer cats, but I love dogs, too."

The man raised his hand, rubbing five-o'clock shadow that covered his strong jaw with his palm. Liz assumed it took much more time to grow and maintain the stubble than it seemed in the first place. "Yes, I do like dogs. Animals more than the position."

A harsh blush crept up her cheeks, filling the woman's chest with hot embarrassment. "I didn't mean..." Her emerald eyes met his lighter, bluer ones. "Well, I don't know what made me say that. Normally I'd never ask a stranger about a sex position."

"It's okay. I don't mind. After all, any topic is good when executed properly."

"You think so?"

"I do."

She nodded, a light feeling overtaking her. The man didn't make fun of her, did not tease, he simply accepted the nonsense that kept escaping her mouth without judging. "Why?"

"_Why?_"

Liz moved her head sideways a little. "The position. Why don't you like it?"

"I never said I didn't like it. I said I prefer animals under the same name. It's not my favourite position, though, I admit that." He obviously tried to contain the smile from breaking out, and his voice did not waver at all, but his eyes, those deep, knowing eyes kept glinting with mirth.

"But why?"

"It this your favourite word?" _Now _he grinned widely.

Liz smiled, too. "I think it might become soon. So, why?"

"Because I'm a romantic, and I like seeing my partner's eyes during sexual interactions." He straightened in his seat and opened his mouth once more to add something else to his previous statement.

Before a sound could escape, another one, breathy, much higher voice interrupted him. "Eliza, I know you're busy, but I'm cold. Could we go now?"

There she stood, small and petite, in her white-haired glory, gazing seductively at the surprised man. The words were directed to the redhead, but her aquamarine-blue eyes did not glance at her friend once.

"Well, you knew it will be cool outside. Why didn't you dress up properly?" Liz clenched her delicate hands into fists, throwing daggers at the blonde with her angry eyes. She did not want to end the conversation with this intriguing man. Not yet.

"I did not know _you _will take so long to sort business with your _friend_." Her cold, pale eyes flicked momentarily from one to another, trying to calculate something from the way Liz seemed to explode any time and the way the male remained silent, watching the interaction between the two women with interest and something close to confusion. "You didn't tell him you're not alone, did you?"

The redhead had good enough manners to feel a tiny bit of guilt for leaving her friend out. But could anyone blame her when she was on a hunt, trying to get to know this British man? No, they couldn't. She opened her mouth to throw a reply to the blonde, something sharp and smart, but Ashwood beat her to that.

"I'm sorry you've been forgotten. Liz, she's a charmer, she stole my whole attention. I didn't even think she might have been with someone else." The man smiled warmly, making the blonde's breath hitch in her throat. "Anyway, I'm afraid I overstayed my time. It was a real pleasure having this discussion with you." He addressed the redhead, bowing his ash-blonde head in a gentleman manner.

She grinned, touched by his words. "I feel the same way. Could I get your-"

"I'm glad. Now, if you excuse me." He stood up, abandoning his chair, leaving Liz with a half-finished question. The man put back on his sunglasses, nodded one last time to both of the women, and hurried away. Until his back disappeared behind the corner, Ashwood could feel a pair of emerald eyes following his retreating figure.

It was hardly polite of him to stop the female mid-sentence, not giving a chance to ask for his number, destroy the likelihood of meeting again. Or, to put it more clearly, _decrease_ the likelihood. After all, they will be living almost in the same area. But Ashwood knew himself. He was not ready for a relationship, no matter how attractive the woman was. And Liz was attractive indeed. She had that easy-going vibe surrounding her, a warm smile and a kind, entertaining personality. Not to mention her good looks and charm. Under different circumstances, he knew he would give them a chance of developing something more. But now? Ashwood had his doubts.

The man sighed. So, he reached his desired destination, British Columbia. A place to stay? Sorted out. The house that he rented was half an hour away from where he was now, in the more secluded area, closer to the forest and mountains. He's already met the owner before he decided to spend some time in the small cafe. The hardcore Canadian wild-crafter, an elderly man with an impressive moustache didn't seem to mind an intruder occupying his old family house, as long as it was paid for a few months beforehand. He praised the Canadian climate, hospitable people and a wide variety of animals to hunt, and expressed his hopes to meet Ashwood soon in a tavern, which sounded suspiciously like a place for people like him - hunters - to hang out, cherish their prey and gossip about women that they met.

Grocery shopping? That will have to wait for a bit, too. Mostly because he had no idea where the shops were, and whether the fresh produce will not go bad before he reaches his new home. It was a good thing he ate in the morning and also had a large lunch. Food will not be a problem until tomorrow.

Overall, the situation seemed relatively acceptable. Things were moving well, nothing was out of order. On the other hand, that might have been the problem. There was too much time left to think about things that should have been forgotten, people that decided to cut Ashwood from their lives completely, and the complicated bunch of feelings, tightening his chest and making his head - not heart, definitely not the poor heart - hurt.

_Stop_, he commanded his mind,_ don't think_. The new world, a new life awaited. It was time to bury the past and open a new page. Could he do that? Sure. As long as...

_He couldn't._ Even without a conscious acknowledgement, Ashwood had an inkling feeling the events a few weeks ago fucked him up more than he was keen on giving credit. Why couldn't women be like dogs? Uncomplicated and honest, content when given dog treats and loving unconditionally? That's a question he decided to solve as soon as he reached his new home.

Did he do that? No. The moment he finally found the large, old house, things of much greater importance came up, making the man forget and concentrate on a different kind of problem. A hairy, four-legged issue he refused to even imagine existing in a house of such _reputable_ reputation.

_Song of the chapter: Poets of the Fall - Choice Millionaire_


	2. Four-legged Problem

"Keira?"

Silence.

"Keira, I know you're here."

Even more of the silent silence.

"Keira, be so sweet and answer me."

Silence. Then... "Hush."

And the silence surrounded them for approximately five seconds.

"I'm coming down."

A dark, tall figure staggered down the stairs, illuminated by the light coming from the hall. A low, masculine voice cursed when he missed a step and threw himself on the wall with a hollow thud. A bruise was nothing when compared to falling down and breaking a bone or two. Or a whole ribcage. Or cracking open your head.

"I told you to wait in the hall. _Before_ I asked you to _not_ make a noise." Her voice, laced with irritation _and_ control in the most unique way possible, came from the shadows somewhere beneath the man.

"And I told you numerous times to reconstruct these stairs into something modern and safe."

"They _are_ modern and safe. If something, a little _too_ comfortable to use."

"Joke's on you, Keira."

"I was not joking. Get back upstairs." The voice sounded closer than before, several degrees further in the north. How in the world could it sound north? North means behind him, and it could not be-

"Keira?!"

"Get it!" A deafening barking, growling and scratching echoed in the dark basement, something large crashing into something even bigger, loud, exotic cursing following the mayhem. The owner of the masculine voice pressed himself to the wall as a four-legged shadow passed him in a hurry, letting out sounds that even Cujo would be jealous of. Only a second later, a completely identical form dashed after the first one, growling like a bear in distress. Neither one of them paid any attention to the man, too focused on the hunt. Their prey was escaping.

The third form was neither fast nor four-legged. It appeared out of the shadows like an overgrown, long-limbed and deformed spider, hunched forward and clutching its knees. "Did you catch it?" The same borderline irritated, cool voice, barely out-or-breath, asked from underneath a curtain of dark, long hair.

"Catch what?"

"A _rat_. Did you manage to catch the _rat_ that ran up these stairs?" A hint of a threat made its way into that cold, controlled tone, making the short hair on the man's arms stand up. It might have made a lesser male succumb and beg for forgiveness, despite him not even knowing what he did wrong. It might have frozen the water into the hardest ice. It might have stopped the battle in its climax. Or better, stopped a heart beating in man's chest. Very possible indeed.

But Eros chuckled lowly, unaffected by the freezing temperatures in an otherwise warm house. "Are you calling your dogs rats?"

A sharp intake of air was sucked into the creature's lungs before the most vulgar sentence escaped her mouth, clearly directed at the laughing male. Not waiting for his acknowledgement of the insult, she manoeuvred around him, heading towards the light.

Keira did not mean that. They both knew it. And that's why Eros followed her without hurt in his unfaltering steps. "So, was it a rat that you have heard making noises before?"

"Yes."

"Was it large?"

"Yes."

"Did it manage to escape?"

"_Yes_."

"Will we be looking for it?"

"Yes."

He sighed.

She kept moving forward. "Hurry up."

And he did. Eros did follow her, but for a much shorter duration than he originally anticipated. The woman - there was no other way but to call the deformed spider a woman as the daylight illuminated her form completely - hunched forward once more, groaning in pain as she shielded her eyes from the sun. Nearing her completely, the man heard her muttering something along the lines of sending a nuclear rocket into space. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder and started rubbing it tenderly, feeling the thin layer of hard flesh flex underneath. "Don't you think it's time to do something about your eyesight?"

Her response was squeezed out through clenched teeth, as harsh as she could muster in this position. "There is _nothing_ wrong with my eyesight. I stayed too long in the dark."

"Me too. But I'm not doubled over crying in agony."

"You're exaggerating things way too _much_." With that, the woman straightened up, the top of her head coming just above the middle of Eros's face. His arm dropped, resting back at his side, where it originally belonged.

He would have smiled. Eros definitely would have if he saw this strange creature anywhere anytime but here and now. After all, even her backside was a sight to admire and marvel at. Now? Now the man was furious she chose to ignore the obvious, stubbornly continuing going her destructive path.

Destructive? She would have called it economically profitable. Because, at the end of the day, it was as close to being economically profitable as it gets. Because, during every hour she was choosing not to go to the specialists (and also not spending those hours chasing rats), she was making millions. Because, as she knew, if she allowed herself a day off, those twenty-four million would take much longer to be made. And all it took was breathing the right way.

He sighed. Again. "If I did not fear your wrath when you freed yourself, I would restrain you with a rope and bring you away with me. For a week or two, far away, without a phone or computer, perhaps to an abandoned-"

"You can stop right _here_. I'm not interested in your delusions. We've got a rodent to catch. I don't want it to run freely around my house." Keira turned around. This whole time, she was speaking with her back facing Eros, but for some reason, the man suddenly found himself face-to-face with a certain person staring him down with the self-assurance and confidence of a giant who has just met an ant. Her eyes, those deep, intelligent eyes coloured as aged whiskey, bored deep into his dark blue ones, challenging Eros to say anything else. He didn't.

The man answered by calmly looking back at her. He was not a surrendered creature standing in front of his superior. Eros was a man who knew his battles too well to waste precious time fighting the vain ones. A fight with Keira, unfortunately, almost always turned into one of them. After all, who could out-talk a woman who wore a goddamn _suit_ in her own house on Sunday?

"Are we done here?" Her cold voice, a few notes deeper than the one of an average female, was nonchalant and emotionless. Not asking, no, it was demanding to agree, to obey her orders. Probably because the man remained silent for a second too long, she took it as him agreeing and put the index finger and thumb into her wide, thin-lipped mouth. A loud, ear-splitting sound tore through the large hall, making Eros flinch away from the tall woman. The same moment it stopped, loud barking echoed from somewhere above, calling for the dogs' master.

For someone less attentive than Eros, or a person who was not used to Keira's facial expressions, the difference might have been left unnoticed. But the man saw the change. The victorious fire lit Keira's eyes. She gave a slow nod, afterwards jerking her head for him to follow, but those honey-coloured orbs spoke volumes, compensating for her silent exterior.

Was it surprising Eros did indeed follow her without arguing? Honestly? No. Because, after three whole years of living with her in Keira's parents' mansion, the man knew his friend by heart. It was pointless talking back to the stony woman, just as it might be pointless to argue with a wall.

They passed the large hall side-by-side in no time, climbing a set of stairs afterwards. And another one. And another. It was a mystery how a small rodent managed not only to outrun two gigantic dogs while climbing up but also make so far into the house. The barks were muffled, meaning it had to be quite a journey for the rat.

From afar where they were standing after a few minutes of brisk walking, two forms in front of the end wall could be distinguished. The dogs sat there, letting out an occasional bark or growl, but otherwise not moving away from the spot, even when their owner showed up. Threatening sounds morphed into pathetic cries, and the unbelievable happened.

Instead of giving the animals cold shoulder, Keira bent down, scratching the grey beasts' ears and murmuring sweet nothings to them. They calmed down, easing their yelping and whining, tails moving rapidly from side to side.

Eros cleared his throat. "Shouldn't there be a dead rodent lying on the ground?"

With his words, Keira snapped back from her love-struck, cooing phase back to the cold, controlling persona. She straightened up, a muscle in her jaw twitching as she gave the man a pointed look. "Right. I'm sorry, I got carried away." Her honey-coloured gaze wandered around, searching for the missing target. "_Where_ is it?"

"Are you asking me or Cronus? Wolf, perhaps? He seems more responding." A hint of sarcasm entered Eros's voice. Even if it affected Keira, she did not show it.

The woman examined their surroundings, the tiniest of a scowl line appearing in between her perfectly shaped eyebrows. The dogs went crazy once more, barking and scratching the dark-wood floor. "They don't have it. The rat escaped."

"Because it certainly wasn't a possibility, right?" This time, Eros allowed himself to go fully, hardcore sardonic, not masking the sarcasm in his deep, slightly raspy tone.

"It was." The woman stared at him, not moving a muscle in her face. "The possibility was equal to around ten per cent at the beginning. Then, adding stairs and distance, it decreased to six or five. But then let's also add your slowness, so it bumped back to eight per cent." Keira nodded to herself, looking at her wolfhounds thoughtfully. "That's quite a lot. If there are more rats, zero point eight times out of ten we will not manage to catch them. If the number increases to twenty rats, it's approximately two rodents that will manage to escape. I _can't_ afford wasting so much time and effort."

"I can't understand whether you're joking or-"

"Hush. I'm _thinking_." Her gaze kept drifting around the hallway, not staying at anything for too long. Absentmindedly she kept grazing the top of one of the dog's, Wolf's, head with the tips of her long, slender fingers. "We shouldn't rely on luck, should we?"

"Well, you seem pretty lucky to me. Perhaps the fortune will follow you here, too?"

"I was not talking to you. But you _do_ have a point. Since I was... _Pretty lucky,_" Keira's jaw muscle twitched. "it means the possibility of being fortunate again decreases greatly. Of course, if we talk about fortune as of some kind of higher power which has to make sure there is equality in this unequal world..."

Eros lifted his hands up, palms facing the woman. "You can stop here. We're hiring the professionals."

"The professionals? You mean, _people_? You should have known by now that the work efficiency of people is far lesser than of machines or even animals." She moved her hands behind her back, locking them there.

The man groaned. "People use _both_ machines and animals, Keira. Just... Can you just... Do the right thing for _once_? I don't want to wake up with a rat in my bed."

"That would be an adventurous one-night stand. Although not that far from the truth, it seems." The corner of her mouth twitched the tiniest bit.

Eros did not miss the microscopic movement. He grinned, showing the world his bleach-white teeth. "I'm not into that."

"Of course."

"So, we're hiring staff?" He redirected the topic before Keira decided to investigate the breed of his one-night stands any further.

"Not _staff_. _One_ person. And I know exactly who." She started moving back from where they came.

"It's, uh, cold outside. Shouldn't you change into something more... Suitable?" Eros took in the woman in front of him, with two enormous grey dogs trailing behind her. She was dressed in her usual - unusual for any other person on Sunday - attire, consisting of a dark blue jacket and suit pants, white button-up shirt and - surprise, but he didn't even have to double-check after all this time - black high heels. The professional-looking ones, but still, how did she manage not only to stride with confidence and nonchalance but also run in those shoes was beyond Eros's understanding. But this was Keira. She had her special ways of doing things.

Hearing his suggestion, the woman stopped for a moment, before changing the direction. Instead of heading for stairs, she opened one of the doors in the hallway, disappearing in the room. The dogs didn't follow her. There was a good reason why.

A few minutes later, Keira returned. She acknowledged Eros with a slow nod. He was staring at her, trying to figure out the reason behind that strange gaze of hers. "What did you need in the fragrance room?"

"What people do need when they enter perfume shops?" The woman opened her hand, showing Eros what was in it. On her palm laid a tinted-glass phial. Despite not seeing what's on the inside, the man already knew its contents.

He lifted his eyebrows. "Again?"

"I did change the formula a bit. Added less musk, because men are not into it that much, and replaced it with a gourmet note."

"Don't want to fuck, but want to eat? Such a great strategy, Keira." He sighed, taking the small bottle from her. Eros opened the lid and brought it to his nose. His dark blue eyes widened immediately, shooting towards the woman who seemed on the verge of smirking. Almost. She didn't.

"What do you think?"

He struggled to construct a proper sentence. So he chose to remain silent. She knew his answer anyway.

It's been Keira's project for a while, to create a fragrance manly enough to fool females, but made specifically for men to attract male attention. In other words, a homosexual dream. In even different words, the ultimate perfume that Eros would stay a mile away. And to be even more specific, these were the sacrifices required to be working with Keira, from which the man could not run away.

Eros finally won the control over his tongue, licking his lips involuntary. "It's not... Bad. I think you have almost reached your end goal."

"We will see. Can you put it on?"

"Now?"

"Yes. It is very concentrated. The final product has to be diluted quite a lot, I think."

He murmured something underneath his breath but did what he was asked. _Commanded_. The aroma hit him, even stronger and more pronounced than before. He tried to separate individual notes, but they worked so well together that even Eros, with his nose used to complicated scents, could hardly do that. "Sweet Jesus, what did you put in here?"

"Can't you tell? I don't think it's been mixed very well, the notes are fighting with each other right now."

"You're joking, right? It's so well balanced I can't even make out the ingredients."

"Oh? I see." Keira took a step closer, and then a few more until she was standing chest-to-chest with the man. She bent forward a bit, bringing her nose close to Eros's neck, where he applied the perfume. "We do comprehend the scent differently. Because if I caught a whiff of you in a meeting, I would run for the hills second-guessing myself whether I'm in the right room with the exact people."

They remained like this for a while, her hands behind her back, sniffing away the fragrance, and him, with his own hands put gently on Keira's tight waist, standing still as a statue. For an outsider, a simple passer-by, they might have looked like two lovers caught up and blinded by passion. But the reality was, their relationship was of purely platonic origins. Friendship of two lonely people who found comfort in knowing they were alone together. In the end, they weren't that lonely anymore.

"Chesnut." Her voice rasped in Eros's ear, bringing the man back to earth from his scent-infused fantasies.

"Hmm?"

"Chesnut and maple syrup. Vanilla and ebony. Then I played with the top notes, bringing in orange, and orange blossom as the middle note. I think the citrusy nature was complemented nicely with the gentleness of heliotrope. A little bit of coffee and sandalwood."

"Interesting. Because now, when it cleared up a little, I can separate tonka bean from the crowd."

"That, too. Shall we go?"

"Did you just _asked_ me to do something?"

"No, I'm afraid you misheard. I said 'Let's go'." Keira untangled herself from the man, giving him a relaxed amber-eye look. "We will visit my old... _Friend_." She didn't move her facial muscles, so Eros just imagined her making a face as if the word tasted foul. "Actually, since it's Sunday mid-day, he might be in the hunters' tavern. An opportunity for you to judge the reactions for this fragrance."

"The one with horns hanging above the entrance? How is it called again?"

"Roasted Hearts."

The man grinned. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He met her half-lidded, almost lazy look, and realized she was far from her usual Sunday-self. Keira hated the end of every week, and also the endings of months, and years, just because it was the finishing line of a productive period of time, requiring resumes and summaries of the work done on previous days. In Keira's world, it indicated a lot of paperwork (which most was taken care of by Eros or her employees in the offices).

"The founder tried to be original. Besides, they _do_ serve good roasted hearts. They're quite delicious when cooked by someone who _knows_ what he's doing."

She started walking away, probably to fetch her coat. Eros hurried behind her, listening for the grey wolfhounds. The dogs disappeared the moment perfume was applied. Their noses probably made the experience too painful to endure, bearing in mind it was a concentrated form of perfume indeed. Not the usual Eau de Toilette with the perfume concentration up to fifteen per cent, and not even Eau de Parfum at around twenty. It had to be at least fifty-fifty, the percentage of ingredients not found in the market.

Grimly, Eros wondered, exactly how much unwanted attention he will receive at the old-school tavern. Male attention. _Old_ male attention.

_Song of the chapter: Blues Saraceno - The Devil You Know_


	3. Experimental Men

Ashwood was staring at the name of the tavern, which written just above the moose horns in black chapped paint. A deep frown of concentration made its way on the man's forehead while he was mentally checking whether or not he lost the way earlier and accidentally found himself in the wrong place. It didn't seem so, and the cars left in an old parking lot definitely looked like belonging to someone... Extraordinary. Ashwood only had to assume it indeed was the place where he would find the house owner.

The tall, broad-shouldered man hesitated only for a moment before opening the door and leaving the cool Canadian Autumn behind. As soon as he did that, a gust of cooked game aroma mixed with strong spirits hit him square in the face, pushing out the air from his lungs. As much as it was unexpected, the sensation was not as unpleasant as one would anticipate. It was strong and peculiar, followed by the gruff voices talking loudly, and suddenly, Ashwood felt almost like home in this strange tavern.

The moment he closed the door with a hollow thud, the chats did not go absent. They took a lower note for a moment but immediately went back. Nobody cared who this intruder was. If he came, he was not an outsider anymore, meaning there was no reason to treat him any differently than any other hunter, even when this new man looked anything but a wildcrafter.

Even though Ashwood prefered it this way, it would have been less difficult to find his landowner if everybody in the room paid him any attention. What was left for him to do was go to the bar, where the bartender, a middle-aged, widely-built male with short brown hair and compensating beard stood serving beer. Giving a quick look around, Ashwood noted that nobody drank anything stronger at this time of the day. It was not even four PM yet. These people, apparently, had some manners.

"Hello." Ashwood addressed the bartender, successfully bringing his attention to himself. Except, not only the dark-haired man now was looking at him, but also nearly every other man around the bar. "I, uh, am looking for-"

"Greg?" The man's gruff, gravelly voice interrupted Ashwood's gentler one. It reminded him of a hardcore smoker after twenty years of a-packet-a-day, but despite the unpleasant-sounding voice, the man didn't seem aggressive nor impolite. "You're looking for Greg, aren't ya?"

"If this Greg is Mr Scott, then yes."

The bartender waved his hand in a lazy manner. "Yeah, ya need Greg, man. He will be 'ere in a moment. Had to check on a wounded elk."

"Pardon?" Ashwood though he didn't hear it right.

"A wounded elk. Broke its leg. Will be good as new in a few weeks."

Ashwood lowered his head to one side, giving the older man a sceptic look. "But... Don't you eat game meats? Wouldn't it be a waste of time and resources to catch, heal, then shoot?" He wished he had remained silent because the looks he was given from everyone around the bar suddenly turned chilly and were neither friendly nor polite.

"Yeah. Game's good. But youngsters aren't, man. Young animals gotta grow and fatten up and have some fun with the females first. Only then do we hunt them." His answer was not biting, but Ashwood was given a more examining look. "You're not from 'ere, eh? You speak with an accent."

"No. I'm not from here."

"If ya intend to stay, better learn a thing or two about animals. Canadians love 'em."

"I will try. So, what do you do when you find a wounded predator?"

"Depends. Either shoot or drug and patch up. The past decade wolves are a little rare to come by, so we heal them and release. Coyotes..." The bartender shook his head. "These are cunning creatures. Kill 'em as much as you want, the next year they double in numbers. By the way, I'm Robert. Rob for friends, meaning for everybody."

Ashwood smiled, taking his extended hand in his. Robert's palm was big and warm, squeezing gently around Ashwood's equally large and calloused one. "Ashwood."

They released each other. "That's a strange name. Momma had to be a bit crazy?"

"I... Oh, yeah, sure." Ashwood struggled not to grin. "She read many love novels at that time. Became a little inventive, I suppose."

Robert shrugged. "It happens. That man over there-" Another gust of cool air interrupted him. The door opened and closed with a barely audible click. Before Ashwood could turn around and check who came inside, a strange smell enveloped him, at the same time as chair legs scraped the ground beside him. The scent intensified even further. Ashwood could swear he was a gentleman, both with his actions and thoughts, but now the prospect of bedding the beholder of the aroma didn't seem that sinful at all. Despite the fact he hadn't talked to the person nor ever seen him before. What kind of witchcraft was that?

Ashwood turned his head, his mouth open to say something. And then it shut up. He refused to believe his own eyes, which, he felt, were widened to the point of resembling two plates. A dark-haired man, around his own age, meaning in his mid-twenties, sat on a chair to his right, staring at Ashwood with dark blue, wary eyes. His silky locks, so dark they seemed nearly black, fell on his forehead in a tangled mess as if they hadn't seen a comb in weeks. Or perhaps it was an intentional action, because, as repulsed as Ashwood was by his gender, he admitted it suited the mysterious man and his otherwise roguish looks. A leather jacket and biker boots underneath the bar, the stranger had the vibe of a biker. Ashwood almost waited for him to shove the jacket away, demonstrating the world a Glock tugged in his jeans.

"Eros, my boy, long time no see! Don't drop by anymore, eh?" Robert's sandy voice dissipated the tension, a large grin projected on his ageing face when the new man, Eros, extended his arm for him to shake, moving his eyes from Ashwood to the bartender.

"Have been busy. Travelling a lot, taking care of the business."

"Women! And your old friend is not 'business' anymore, eh? Are ya purposefully trying to offend me, man?"

Eros smiled, his profile in a clear view for Ashwood to examine. As if sensing his stare, the dark-haired man turned to him, raising one straight eyebrow. "Do I have anything on my face?"

That did the trick. His raspy, nearly guttural voice snapped Ashwood from his hypnosis. "Not that I know of."

Eros's second eyebrow followed the first one. If something, he did not expect such a remark from the love-struck idiot. "I see. Then could you please stop staring at me?"

"I'm sorry if I made you feel nervous."

Robert cleared his throat before Eros could answer, probably something biting and impolite. He awkwardly acknowledged the sentence exchange between the two of them. "Maybe I could offer you a beer?"

"Yes, please."

Eros just nodded, choosing to remain silent, only occasionally giving Ashwood a subtle blue-eye glance. Now _he_ felt as if having something on his face, the way Eros was caressing his features with his mistrusting eyes. He raised a hand to his chin, rubbing the jaw in an uncomfortable manner, wishing only for Greg Scott to finally show up.

A gust of air, third in this hour alone, was followed by a heavy slam of the door, together with shutting out the chats around. The silence that would make a funerals' silence jealous stood, allowing the sound of intruder's steps echo loudly in the tavern. He neared the bar with a confident stride, making clicking sounds all the way. And his steps seemed... Light. Like the person didn't weight much. Could Mr Scott have lost weight in those few hours after their last meeting?

A chair on Ashwood's left made a harsh sound as it was brought back. The bartender, who straightened up immediately after the door was slammed shut, respectfully bowed his head to the newcomer. Chatting around them slowly eased, failing to go up to the previous volumes. "Ms Blakesley. The usual?"

"Yes." _Her_ voice, because it was certainly a female, sounded as if she was less than an hour out of bed. Or a frozen coffin, more likely. Without a hint of usual women's breathiness, it retained a note of morning grogginess, a certain degree of a husky note, reminding Ashwood painfully of the way Clara, his ex-commando, used to rasp out whole sentences sometimes. Not as deep as hers, the newcomer's tone compensated with its rich, perishing coldness that the other woman never mustered completely, no matter how much she tried.

Robert brought a glass of golden liquid, no ice, to the woman. "May I ask if you need anything else? Eros came earlier, but he didn't state what-"

"Scott."

The bartender nodded vigorously. "He's coming soon. Had to check on the elk Cronus had found. Will be here in no time, but I can still call him to hurry up."

A movement on his left made Ashwood lift his head and finally take in the female. "No need. I have time." Her elegant, long-fingered right hand with a few glistening silver rings slid along the top of the bar, feeling the dark wood beneath her palm. His gaze slowly moved upwards, to a sleeve of a black coat, to her shoulder that was hid beneath long, tangled strands of brown hair, a few shades lighter than Eros's. It caressed the woman's slender neck, finally reaching her strong, clenched jaw and tightly pressed long mouth, straight nose, hollow cheeks morphing into harsh cheekbones. And eyes.

Just like the man previously, she was staring at him. But unlike Eros and his cautious observation, the woman was examining him openly, challengingly, peeling layer after layer of his soul. Her penetrating dark amber gaze made him feel as if staring in the eyes of a predator before becoming his dinner. It was not subtle. Her golden eyes were daring.

She smiled with one corner of her mouth, her frozen mask crackling, but the positive emotion did not reach the woman's eyes. "Did you enjoy James's company?"

"James's?" His voice sounded hoarse even in his own ears, deepening a few notes from the usual tone. Ashwood cleared his throat, suddenly wishing for something stronger than beer.

"Eros's. His name was James until he got involved in a motorcycle club. _Years_ passed since he's out of there, but he refuses to call himself anything else but Eros. So, did you enjoy his company?" The sentences were constructed specifically to favour the natural need of intonation, but somehow, that freezing voice of hers managed to flatten out every edge.

"I did."

"Have you noticed anything strange about his presence?" Subtle. Very subtle. Not to mention the said man, sitting nearly pressed to his other side, his hands around the glass clenched to the point of knuckles going bone-white.

Ashwood lifted his angular eyebrows. Everything seemed fitting into the right places. This female certainly helped with her less than careful questions. "Like what? His good looks? Are they unusual in this area? Leather jacket? I bet it hides a bunch of tattoos underneath. Arousing perfume, perhaps? Also very suspicious." He heard Eros chuckle lowly behind him.

Her gaze remained firmly set on Ashwood when she brought the glass to her lips, downing half of its content. "I don't know whether to call you observant yet. At least you know your orientation."

"Do I look like gay? That's why he picked me? Is _he_ gay?"

"I don't know why he picked you." She finally broke the invisible bond, turning and lowering her head a tiny bit to see Eros.

Ashwood noted she did not answer the other two questions, cherry-picking the middle one, but he let it slip for now. The woman resembled a stone, and he doubted whether he will get anything out from her if confronting directly.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Eros's raspy voice held a note of sarcasm, which did not manage to affect the woman's mask as she was calmly gazing at him. "I'm not into men nor I believed he was. I thought it would be the least cringe-worthy experience to try your invention on a straight, young man."

"But it worked, didn't it?" Her voice held a tone of curiosity, the first actual feeling during their whole conversation. Could it be that maybe, just maybe, the woman was not born as a result of someone jerking off on a granite statue?

Ashwood smiled at his thoughts and answered her question instead of the ex-biker. "Yeah. Eros smelled nice. Wouldn't want to have him around wearing this fragrance. Is this actually your invention?"

"It must be!" Robert interrupted the woman before she could say anything. He hardly tried to hide the fact that he was listening to every exchanged word. "Ms Blakesley here - she's a perfumer. Came back from France, lived in London, built an empire. Showed 'er father his place!" His brown eyes turned gentler, keener, and his booming voice turned into a murmur. "But the old man didn't feel the lowest blow, eh? Turned upside down after tasting the first bite of your success."

"Rob." Eros gave the bartender a pointed look. "Let's leave past in the past." He turned towards puzzled Ashwood and smiled a little. "Keira has been experimenting with this fragrance that I'm currently wearing for a long time. She tried to create something that would make gay men turn even gayer."

"Oh?" The ash-blonde man's mouth quirked upwards. "I was not expecting to become an experimental material. Maybe I could offer you a few rats in exchange?"

Keira finished her drink while Eros was chuckling again behind Ashwood's back. "No. I see Scott will have quite some work to do."

The meaning downed to him quickly. "Do you too have rats in your house?"

"_Rat_. Singular. It escaped."

"And then you started counting the percentages and money lost, and everything in between. In other words, you became freaked out that it might be not just one, but several rats. A colony of rodents in your house. How _horrible_ it would be." Eros clearly teased the woman, but instead of snapping back at him, she only glared, long and hard. How could such a warm amber colour turn icy all of a sudden?

"Rodents carry _diseases_. If you don't mind, I will be so _kind_ as to clear you spare area in the basement for sleeping purposes. _Permanent_." Keira turned her noble head towards the bartender and tapped one long finger along the brim of her empty glass. Wordlessly, he took it and refilled with the same golden liquid as before.

Ashwood had his suspicion what exactly she was drinking before, based on the heady, sweet aroma of cedar, mingled with hints of toffee, fudge and cherries. But he just _had_ to lift his eyebrows in disbelief when he caught a glimpse of the label AND the unmistakable round glass bottle. "Where did you get Glenmorangie whiskey from? Pride Nineteen seventy-eight? With only _seven_ _hundred_ bottles made available worldwide?"

The female gazed at him, another emotion - amusement - hiding in her eyes that seemed nearly the same colour as the liquid in her glass in this dimmed light. "I obviously got it from the bar."

"I know. The question is, where did _Rob_ get it from? It must cost a fortune. What kind of shady visitors bring this tavern such money?"

Silence stood between the four of them before Eros chuckled. He had some serious problem with holding down those sarcastic bursts of laughter. "_They_ don't. She does. Keira needs to have some serious reassessment of her priorities."

Ashwood's bewilderment only grew further. The woman was slowly sipping one of the rarest whiskeys in the whole world, while Robert stood behind the bar uncomfortably stiff.

"For a nameless, pastless man, you surely have balls to call strangers '_shady_'." She was nearly finished with the second glass of strong alcohol, but her voice seemed immune to its ability to warm things up. If something, it froze a few degrees more.

It clicked. "_You_ are providing this tavern with money so it could provide you with _expensive_ _spirits_?"

"That's right."

"But why..." His eyebrows furrowed, but shoulders relaxed as he leaned back a little. "Why not buy individual bottles for yourself? Wouldn't it cost less? Or are those bottles reserved individually for you and it's actually cheaper to by it under the name of the tavern?"

"No."

"_No?_"

"No. I'd suggest you ease this nonsensical speech and instead try this wonderful whiskey. I have a few ideas about how to convert it into a fragrance. I need another tongue to help me distinguishing individual notes."

"I'm not competent enough to name what I taste."

"No worries needed. I read minds."

Ashwood shook his head in disbelief. The offer was tempting, especially because he knew there probably won't be another opportunity to taste whiskey of such quality, but on the inside, he still wanted to argue against her offer. "If you need an assistant, ask Eros. I'm sure he will be glad helping you."

"He's already paid to be my assistant."

"One more reason to trust his judgement more than mine."

Keira did not say anything. She simply stared at him with unreadable eyes, sharp enough to slice his guts open. Not arguing. There was no point of arguing when she knew she had already won. The woman's ringed hand pushed the glass with remaining few gulps towards Ashwood. And waited. She did not retreat her arm, choosing to quietly drum the glass with the back of her nails.

Internally, he wanted to curse in the most exotic way. To use one of those swear words he heard in Israel, Afganistan and Vietnam among soldiers. To say something that would wipe the invisible smirk on Keira's immobile, angular face. Her stare alone told him she was indeed laughing at him. But for some reason... He was glad to be able to summon any kind of response from her. Even when _he_ was being left embarrassed.

The first mouthful of the ridiculously expensive whiskey hit him with the heat of hell. And then came the taste, starting like a baked fruit pie, morphing into one spice after another, dancing on his tongue with the grace of a ballerina. They kept mingling together, then separating, and getting back together in eternal harmony.

When the powerful primarily flavours died down, finishing taste came in a form of soft vanilla, creamy fudge, complimented beautifully by caramelized, tangy citrus and sweetness of milk chocolate. He tried to keep his mouth shut, so the moan building in his throat wouldn't escape. "It's..."

"Shady. Very shady." Did his ears trick him, or there actually was a hint of mirth in her tone?

"Good. It's definitely worth to pay a fortune for."

"Luckily, it does not cost much more than regular whiskey in my tavern. But gentlemen drink it responsibly. A sip or two, but mainly opt for other good spirits, less rare. A taste is enough." Robert was smiling widely, his teeth almost completely hid by a bush of brown hair.

Ashwood nodded. He offered the glass to Keira, who shook her head once. With that, the man finished his drink. Only when it was gone did he remember Eros behind his back. Apologetically he was ready to say something, but the dark-haired biker only shook his head like Keira, and, unlike her, have Ashwood a reassuring smile. "It's okay. At home, she has a whole room dedicated to alcoholic beverages. I'm not much into strong spirits anyway. Gotta remain sober when she has a little too much. You know, a drunk can't take care of a drunk."

"I don't get drunk." Her icy voice slashed through space.

"Explains why you are drinking at four PM."

"It's already late according to her usual routine." Eros added. Both men laughed at that, only Robert holding himself tight-lipped. He did not want to play with fire. After all, his tavern alcohol supplied depended greatly on the woman sitting nearby.

When he calmed down, the blonde man turned to Keira, extending his arm to the woman. "We have not been introduced to each other. I'm Ashwood."

She looked at his hand, then back to those lake-coloured eyes, and to his hand again. Slowly, Keira brought her own smalled limb up, covering his warm palm with her cool skin. "You already know my name." She had a firm, steady grip, giving a gentle squeeze at the end, before releasing and giving the man an examining look. "Do you have Scottish blood?"

"My mother is Scottish. Why?"

Keira nodded once, confirmingly. "Because I don't know anyone else but Gaelic-speaker to name their children uinnseann. Either Scottish or Canadian. But taking in your accent, I was positive you have Scottish roots."

"And you called _me_ observant."

"I was not being observant. I was being smart and knowledgeable."

Ashwood sniggered, not being able to contain himself. "You're such a modest, humble creature."

"There is no point to deny facts... _Yggdrasil_." She said the word with a hard tongue, bringing edges and angles to the syllables as if trying to roll the word in her mouth the same way she tasted whiskey.

Ashwood had a feeling Keira was ready to bring every mythical ash tree from her memory. At that moment, surrounded by three strangers - a bartender praising Canadian goods (and the power of Keira's money), a biker, living flesh-and-blood copy of James Dean, and a woman, colder than Antarctica's highest point - he felt... At home. Almost like he belonged here.

_Song of the chapter: Tool - Intension_


	4. Wrong Tactic

"Greg should have been here at least an hour ago. Are you sure he's not been eaten by that elk?" Eros asked Robert, who was standing behind the bar without any work to do. Towards the evening, unlike in a typical cafe or a club, the number of visitors steadily decreased. The majority of them were hunters, fishermen or just wildcrafters. The bartender explained them being busy at night - setting traps, doing a route around their hunting areas, looking for herds, locating packs or individual predators. In other words, the man mournfully concluded, no time for drinking or eating.

Ashwood was barely listening to Robert and Eros's conversation. He added a word or two occasionally, but the majority of time was spent silently eyeing the woman on his left.

Somewhere around the second hour of sitting at the bar, she abruptly stood up and left without a word, only to get back after a few minutes with a laptop in her hands. She shrugged out of her dark coat, resting it on an empty chair beside, and started typing quickly, not paying any attention to people around. Meaning, Ashwood had a perfect opportunity to examine the Daughter of Stone more thoroughly.

Even surrounded by this rustic environment, in which she should have looked like an abomination in her professional-looking navy suit (Ashwood wanted to laugh out loud when he finally noticed her wear but decided against the idea to not risk being frozen to death), but somehow, by an unbelievable one-time miracle, it looked like the tavern, the wild, savage rawness of this place complimented the woman in a way unseen to the humankind. An all-professional business person in a heathens' den, that's what she looked like.

On her face, illuminated by the light from the screen, shadows were playing their games. Keira's features, naturally angular and sharp, were made even more pronounced. Hollows of her cheeks and rises of cheekbones, the razor-edged jawbone, almost masculine-harsh, high forehead and straight nose accentuating the noble, Ancient Greek-like look. An ageless creature, without lines of worry or anger wrinkles, she was both attractive and repulsive. Examining the forward-leaning woman, Ashwood admired her physical beauty, but at the same time minded every invisible edge of her personality, which nobody wanted to be hurt by.

"Don't you have anything else to do?" Her voice was quiet, freezing-cold and without a natural questioning intonation. If he hadn't had experience gained from the previous few hours listening to her talking, Ashwood might have been confused. Was she asking? Was she stating the fact he didn't indeed have anything to do? Was she talking to herself?

"My current activity seems interesting enough to continue. Will you do anything about it?"

Keira glimpsed at him for a moment, flashing her light brown eyes, before continuing typing. "I don't have the right by law to forbid you to continue on with your occupation. No."

"You could just ask me to look away if my staring is bothering you. Or drop a sarcastic 'picture will last longer' to make me feel uncomfortable, and I'd avert my gaze in embarrassment."

She stopped torturing the keyboard. "Any English gentleman, raised under respective circumstances, would know it is rude to stare. That makes me question."

Ashwood smiled, amused by her straightforwardness. "Question what?"

"Things."

"Any English lady, raised with proper care and understanding, would realize it is impolite to tease her conversation partner." The man shrugged. "But perhaps Canadians have different etiquette. I wouldn't know, would I?"

She kept her steady gaze on his blue-green eyes, Keira's eyebrows raised less than a millimetre. "You have a point." And then she got back to typing, leaving puzzled Ashwood to stare at her profile.

"Won't you tell me about those 'things'?"

"No."

"But you've just said I have a point."

"Yes."

"Shouldn't that mean you surrender, and therefore spill your thoughts?"

"No."

"Would you have any other words in your vocabulary?"

"Yes."

Ashwood sighed. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're nosy and noisy."

The man cracked a smile. Perhaps she was not exactly hopeless? "Did you just make a joke?"

"No. I described your attitude."

"In a very charming manner, I might add."

"Good for you, soldier."

Immediately, Ashwood felt himself going rigid in his seat, the light mood forgotten. "Soldier?"

Keira stopped typing again, reaching for a glass of water that she had asked for half an hour ago, and took a slow, long sip, almost as if it was expensive whiskey she was drinking. "It was my assumption."

"Why do you think I'm a soldier?"

If she weren't already looking at him, Keira would have missed the minuscule flick of _something_ in his lake-coloured eyes. Was it accusation? Betrayal? She doubted it was joy, but then, Keira had never been good with emotions. "You're not pleased."

"I'm not... Delighted." He smiled a forced smile before clearing his throat. There was no point pretending she was not correct. Keira was not a woman you could fool easily, Ashwood came to realize that much. "It's okay, it's not a heavily guarded secret that requires elucidator's head. A bit personal though. So, what gave me away?"

"People _pay_ for information. If I expound every detail, you have the chance to improve your disguise. _You_ will profit from _my_ benevolence. _I_ will not earn a penny."

Ashwood accessed the woman carefully. There was no ensured way to judge whether she was joking or being serious. Her tone, flat as before, didn't give away Keira's mood. It was almost like walking in a land of both venomous and not dangerous snakes. Choose incorrectly, and you're as good as dead. A riddle without hints, that's what she was.

Eros knew the woman better. He could have helped, but for some reason, Ashwood did not want to involve the other man in their conversation. He seemed busy enough debating Robert on the future increase in moose population in Maine. Besides, this battle was to be fought alone.

He reached for Keira's glass. Her amber eyes followed him taking a gulp of cold water. "Helping others not always needs to be profitable. In fact, if this country was built on just the advantages, it would crumble beneath our feet."

"This country _is_ built on the advantages that our actions provide to individual people. You're not making any sense."

Ashwood smiled. "And what about the grey cardinals, working day and night without the need to profit?"

"Grey cardinal is meant to be a mastermind behind the scene. It does not mean he's not making money." She took the glass from him, putting it far away from his reach. "I searched the database up to ten years back with 'Ashwood' typed in the name window. I found your records from the military."

"Do you... Do you research _every_ new man that crosses your path?" Ashwood would lie if he didn't admit he was stunned. The man did not expect Keira to be so paranoid.

She met his eyes with her steady, knowing gaze as if understanding his trail of thoughts. "Only those that seem suspicious."

"Oh? So now I'm suspicious?" He rubbed his jaw with his palm. "At least not shady. What did I do?"

"That's the information worth at least a few hundred thousand dollars, soldier." Keira leaned back. She seemed the most relaxed in those few hours. "You're observant and careful. I might have written those qualities down to nothing. But then your absurd politeness kicked in. When I tried to provoke you, you insulted me back in the most polite way possible. That does not mean anything as well. Then you kept scanning the crowd when there was nothing interesting happening. I deal with people every day, unfortunately for me. Most would scan their surroundings once, twice at most, and especially not in the middle of a conversation." Her gaze lowered down. "I can see the outline of a dog tag underneath your t-shirt, and you have it tugged in your pants. That adds up."

The man smiled a little. "You're good at this."

"I know. Then I checked the database to find out whether you're not a serial killer hired to assassinate me."

"How did you get access to such information"

"Money."

Ashwood nodded at that. "I see. I'm honoured you would spend them to investigate my case. Found anything interesting? Did it at least payoff? Shoe size, for instance? My past girlfriends and average time of dating them?"

"Why would I be interested in your shoe size or girlfriends?" There was something close to puzzlement in Keira's voice. She almost sounded made of flesh and blood and not crafted out of stone. "I didn't read the whole digital file, it's multiple pages long. I searched only for clues that could prove it's not dangerous for James to communicate and spend time with you. And I doubt they have such personal information records. No one is interested in your favourite sex position, soldier, no matter how important _you_ think you are."

"First of all," Ashwood held one finger in front of her face to silence the woman. "I think you meant to say _you_ to communicate and spend time with. Second of all, trust me, I _am_ dangerous. I forewent serious military education, am experienced in martial arts, one-on-one combats and so-called street fights. I know how to wield a weapon - both a gun and a non-shooting tool. I have survival experience. I have-"

"Yes, you have. That's enough, very impressive." This was the closest one of Keira's responses that could be called sarcastic. Definitely not suitable for a stone statue. "I have to stop you here, because Mr Scott, the man of the hour, finally decided to show up."

With her words, a heavy presence moved towards the bar, tapping Ashwood's and Eros's shoulders as soon as the newcomer reached them. "My boys, so glad to see you 'ere."

"Greg! You took quite some time." Eros turned around, reaching for the man's hand and shook it vigorously. "How's the elk? Had some trouble?"

"Nah. Stubborn as hell. Broke the stall, me and a few others had to clean up the mess. Good evening, Ash." Greg Scott, in his six-foot-five glory, untamed salt-and-pepper hair and eyes as black as an abyss, was smiling brightly at Ashwood. They met for the first time less than twelve hours ago, but from the way he behaved it seemed they'd known each other for half of their lives.

"Good evening, Sir." He nodded politely, gripping his extended hand as Eros did before. It was not a subtle fight for domination like when shaking hands with Keira, it was a full-blown energetic greeting. "I hope the elk is-"

"Oh, forget about the elk, that possessed the animal. I almost regret Cronus found him at all."

"Cronus?" Ashwood lifted one eyebrow. He had heard the name mentioned before but failed to ask who he was.

"Yeah. That woman's dog. A bloody beast almost ravished the poor elk." His eyes drifted to Keira, who seemed too occupied by her shady work to even acknowledge the newcomer. "I see ya finally left your house. How's the sun, vampire?"

She lifted her amber eyes, probably killing the towering man from the inside out. "Vampires don't exist. Cavemen, on the other hand, do."

Greg rolled his eyes in the most obvious manner, making sure Keira saw him doing that.

Ashwood cleared his throat. "Vampire? She seems too tan to be a vampire." Keira was rather tan indeed. Under normal circumstances, she would be called light-skinned. But in Canada, when people are either fair or paper-white, the woman seemed like she had seen some sun.

"It's not her appearance, my boy. I've dealt with a few things in the past inside her mansion. I'm an early riser, Eros, who used to let me in, too. But her? You won't catch a glimpse of her till lunchtime. And when it comes, she stumbles down the stairs like a groggy vampire woken up too early. You should see the view sometime. It's magnificent." He laughed lightheartedly, completely immune to the Medusa's stare thrown his way. "Dressed up like she has a business meeting in five minutes, you know, a classical Dracula's attire, but then her face is like someone pissed in her morning coffee which she had still not had yet. And then, upon the first hit of sun, girlie throws herself out of its reach and covers in shadows for half an hour."

"Perhaps we can get back to business? Someone will explode soon." Eros's voice broke through the laughter. He indicated rigid Keira with his head, who to Ashwood seemed just as indifferent as before, but couldn't control himself and cracked a grin in response to Greg's story. "We have a rat at home."

"Oh? That's a first." Greg thanked the bartender for a beer that was put in front of him and gulped down half of the liquid in one go. "It's on the perfumer." He explained to a random man next to Eros. "Order whatever you like."

"The rodent. I want you at my house tomorrow morning." Keira's voice went down a few degrees. She was not typing anymore, leaning back in the chair instead like it was her personal throne.

"Actually, I have the same problem. The house I rented from you, it's full of rats." Ashwood smiled apologetically at the frowning man. "Could you please take a look whether you could do anything about it?"

"No problem, my boy. A few sets of traps will do the trick." Mr Scott waved his massive, calloused hand, not paying any attention to the woman.

Keira obviously disliked being ignored. She slammed the laptop shut, probably breaking the device, and stared at the elderly hunter with so much ice in her gaze that it was a miracle the man did not become a human popsicle. "I _said_, I want you at the Blakesley mansion _tomorrow_ _morning_, at seven o'clock. Am I _understood_?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not deaf. I will look into your case after I'm finished with Ash's house. You've got those two beasts, they will catch the rat. Stop worrying, vampire. Better run home and create another fragrance."

The woman was still. So still she seemed like a statue, and only a muscle in her jaw kept reappearing while she clenched and unclenched flesh around the angular bone. "I am paying you _money_." Keira's words were silent, yet carried so much power Ashwood was surprised Greg had not succumbed yet. "I expect your _devotion_ and _dedication_. _Tomorrow_ morning. Seven o'clock."

Before the hunter could throw a heated response, Ashwood knew he had to interfere, because, from the looks, Eros was enjoying himself a little too much and would not say anything. "It's okay, Sir." He addressed the salt-and-pepper man. "The lady might be afraid of rats. I wouldn't want her to lose sleep for such an irrelevant case. C. need their rest, after all."

"Stop this nonsense." She shot him a glare, and in those blazing yellow eyes, the whole world was swirling like crazy. She _definitely_ was not emotionless. "You," Keira addressed Greg. "will take Eros and deal with this aggravating problem in the mansion_ right now_. Mr Mallory," Her fingers drummed the top of her laptop at a furious pace as she gave Ashwood a daring look. "fetch your belongings from that disgusting house of yours. You will stay at the mansion till Scott catches every single rat. Twenty or forty - that's much more than one. Meaning, it will take less time and effort."

"But-" Ashwood wanted to protest. After all, he met the woman three hours ago. For all he had seen, she was hardly a hospitable host. He could not imagine her actually wanting to provide him with a roof above his head.

She interrupted him after hearing the first word. "There is no 'but'. Stop _wasting_ my time." Keira stood up, tossing Robert a bunch of dollars. "Keep the change. James, take my computer _and_ my car and go with Scott. Make sure he catches the rat. Use force if needed. Mr Mallory, I hope you are ready to go."

This was the side of Keira Blakesley Ashwood had not seen before. He assumed she indeed did hide a bossy nature somewhere deep inside since she was a successful businesswoman and had to know how to get things done. But he did not expect Keira to take things into her hands with such a sheer force and tyrannise, hopefully, calculated and not too harsh for people to deal with.

Silently, two men hurried away. Even the mighty Greg Scott stopped complaining, probably finally affected by the toxicity of Keira's eyes. The woman simply stood there, leaning on the bar and following them with her amber gaze. Was this the same sweetheart, the humble creature that tried to use Ashwood as her personal experiment rat? Yeah, it definitely seemed like her.

Only then, remembering the experimental perfume, Ashwood started wondering why neither Mr Scott nor Robert, the bartender, seemed affected by the alluring creation.

He sighed. There were answers he hoped to get out from her one day. The day Keira does not duck his questions just like a professional matador avoids the bull, he will get answers to every each of his questions.

Keira did not ignore him, though. Ashwood found himself being observed by the woman like a horse in the market and was yet to decide whether he liked the feeling or not. "We should go. I hope you know where you live."

The man laughed, unable to control himself even when knowing she was far from joking. Probably. "The better if I forget. We will spend some cosy time together inside the car." He grinned. And felt his smile disappear.

She looked at him like he was a half-brain idiot. "Give me the keys."

"You've had alcohol." Despite feeling the blush creeping up his chest, Ashwood shot back. There was no way he allowed a drunk woman to drive his car.

"I _said_, give me the _keys_."

"No." He lifted one eyebrow, curious about what she will do.

Nothing. Keira didn't do anything. The woman gave him an analyzing, cold look from head to toes and turned around, putting her black coat over the navy business suit that she wore. Not waiting for the man, she manoeuvred towards the exit and disappeared in the dark, not forgetting to slam the door after her.

Ashwood felt like sighing again. The man gave Robert a hopeless, tired look, silently asking whether it will be better one day. The bartender only shrugged. It probably meant 'no', or 'after your funeral'.

He put on his jacket, tapping the side pocket of his jeans, checking for keys. They were there. Now, he had to find the furious woman, fetch his things and hit the bed. Or a coffin, bearing in mind it was Keira's mansion he will stay in. "See you someday. Thanks for the beer. And the company." Ashwood waved before following the perfumer.

It was pitch black outside. Whilst only a bit past eight o'clock, Canada was swimming in a pool of darkness. Street lamps failed to illumine the parking lot, and Ashwood had to trust his general sense of direction to find his car. Furthermore, Keira was nowhere to be seen.

The man was ready to call her asking whether vampires were so unbelievably good at blending with shadows when he felt a slender arm sneak around his throat, another hand grabbing at his... Front. The front of his pants. At his... Bloody hell, someone was kneading his package in the middle of the street while strangling him.

He should have reacted differently than he did. For what Ashwood knew, it could have been a serial killer, chosen him as his next target. But the way the stranger's fingers worked was pure bliss, numbing every other sensation within Ashwood's body, leaving only the building pressure in his pants. A pressure that needed badly to be released.

Involuntary, he thrust his hips forward to provide more friction, and at that moment, a hot breath touched his neck from behind. A voice, cold as the highest point of Antarctica, whispered in his ear. "Don't you, soldiers, get some kind of education how to control your sexual needs? What if this had happened in the middle of the battle? Would you get hard while somebody held a gun to your head, too?"

The hand abruptly stopped, reaching in his pocket and fishing out the keys. Keira squeezed his neck a tiny bit more before releasing flushed Ashwood from her vice grip. Her chest, pressed to the man's wide back, disappeared, the warmth of her body dissipating into thin air.

Ashwood's car flashed yellow lights into the night, indicating it was unlocked. A shadow from behind the man started moving towards the vehicle.

"Wait." His voice sounded weird even in his own ears, too husky, too throaty - as if he started to catch a cold. He hoped he was not falling sick indeed. "Wait, you've had those drinks..."

"So did you. I can hold my liquor. While you, I'm not so sure. Stop wasting my time." The unstoppable woman opened the door to the driver's seat, her form momentarily illuminated by the light, and then disappeared inside the car with a loud thud of the door. She left Ashwood standing outside, alone, with a tent in his pants and irregular breaths coming in and out from his nose. What had he gotten himself into? What did he do to find himself with the temptress? Worst of all, the said temptress did not intend to actually seduce him, Ashwood was sure of that, and yet, the sexual tension that she created was so obvious one could feel it cracking in the air, saturated and thick with unsaid lust.

There was nothing else to do but to get inside the car, where the devil was waiting patiently for him.

Patiently, what a joke. Keira gave him the coldest, most freezing look, her whiskey-coloured eyes glinting dangerously in the momentary light. "Could you take even _more_ time for yourself? Please, jerk off, take care of that _thing_ in your pants, why not? After all, we're not to hurry anywhere, _right_, huh?"

"Not that it was me who attacked a starved man from behind, putting pressure on forbidden body parts." Ashwood shot back, twisting in his seat uncomfortably. He needed a cold shower, badly, because the problem in his jeans was not about to go away anytime soon, it was quite obvious.

"Take it as a lesson to not _starve_ yourself next time. Your celibate is not doing you any good." The car started moving, and Keira's face was cast in the light of a street lamp. Her sharp features didn't hold any emotion. They were set in stone, without warmth, without life in them.

"I'm not doing it on purpose. I was travelling a lot. My, uh, love interest decided to friend zone me. I was not interested in other women. It happened without purposefully trying to... Starve myself. From sexual activities, I mean." He could feel the blush creeping up, and was thankful for the darkness in the car.

Keira was quiet for a few moments, concentrated on the road in front of her. She obviously knew where Ashwood's rented house was because her movements behind the steering wheel were precise and confident. When she finally spoke, her voice held a note of something. A touch, just a spice-up, but it was not as cold anymore. "You realize you have two fully functioning hands, don't you?"

"I do. But jerking off in the shower is not the same as... As..." Ashwood cleared his throat. It was not a topic he was comfortable talking about, especially not with a still semi-hard organ.

"Words don't bite, soldier." The woman reached to turn on the radio, this way saving Ashwood from further embarrassment. By shutting him off.

For the first time, he was actually, honestly thankful to Keira. Maybe, just maybe the woman going through his music albums was not as cold and ruthless as he initially believed? Perhaps she did have a heart that was not made of stone? Could it be that-

"What rubbish are you usually listening to, soldier? Your music taste is as bad as a four-year-old."

-  
_Song of the chapter: Frankie Goes To Hollywood - Relax_


	5. Irish-Blooded Scots

A "big lie" is a propaganda technique, a logical trick. The expression was coined by Adolph Hitler, when he dictated his book _Mein Kampf_, about the use of a lie so colossal that no one would believe that someone could have the impudence to distort the so infamously.

Later, Joseph Goebbels put forth a slightly different theory which has come to be more commonly associated with the expression "big lie". If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it.

Ashwood kept telling himself their little journey back home, to _Keira's_ home, was not awkward at all. Not. One. Bit. Definitely not. Because the woman - she was a sweetheart. Who could have wanted a different road partner when he could have a relaxed, only slightly drunk woman behind the wheel, driving as if she owned the road? In such bliss, who could even think about anything else but the joy the mad drive gave? He almost believed the lie. After all, everything depends on the perspective from which you look at things, right?_ Right_? Turns out, no, not exactly.

Upon reaching Ashwood's rented, rat-infiltrated house, she gave him five minutes to collect any of his belongings that he left there the first and only time visiting the house. But in Keira's vocabulary, five minutes actually meant two and a half.

She showed up in the hallway just as the man was leaving the bathroom after relieving pressure on his kidneys. Not before foregoing the necessary procedure of asking him whether Ashwood _really_ needed to waste time, Keira gave Greg Scott's house a judgmental look, probably debating with herself whether the rodent problem was so severe to actually bring the man home. Whatever her arguments were, they all went in vain when a fat rat bolted out of the shadowed kitchen area towards the light in the hallway, right into the woman's feet.

A foreign sound came out of Keira's mouth when she jumped to the side, trying to avoid a collision with the rodent. In her heels and a long, heavy coat, the woman moved unbelievably gracefully and lightly, indicating long years of practice. But was it a practice in walking in heels, or jumping away from objects coming her way?

Ashwood gave her a funny look after the rat disappeared. "_Hatichat harah_? Hebrew profanity is hardly a suitable language for a lady like yourself."

His teasing tone made the woman straighten up, taming those dark chocolate strands of wavy hair in one swift movement. Her jaw was clenched, a long muscle twitching on top of the bone. "What line of work were you busy with, soldier? Instead of actively trying to lose a limb or two, you kept yourself occupied collecting exotic curse words?"

"Oh, I was trying to lose a limb, that's for sure. But fortune did not favour me. She smiled at my comrades, not me. I came back in full set, with my head full of profanities." Ashwood waved a hand as if it was nothing, but something in his tone, or perhaps in his facial expression, made Keira realize one thing.

Uncomfortable silence stood between them, the man looking at her with calm, lake-coloured eyes, while she was tormented by a fight deep in her guts. Her higher consciousness almost lost. But then...

"I'm _sorry_."

Ashwood's eyebrows shot up, pure astonishment showing on his beautiful face. "Excuse me? Did I hear you correctly?"

Keira gave him a look that would shatter a diamond. "It's not my problem if you have hearing problems. Are you done wasting my time?"

"I am." A huge, brilliant grin appeared on Ashwood's face, exposing his white model-perfect teeth. "But just so you know, the discussion with one's personal conscience takes much more precious time than I could ever manage to waste."

"It's a good thing I don't have any spare time to start this discussion, then." Keira bent down, grabbing one of Ashwood's bags, threw it over her shoulder, and exited the house, leaving Ashwood with a small smile playing on his lips.

And only when he got in the passenger seat of his own car a few minutes later did the man realize he has yet to endure who-knows-how-long in the same car with Keira. Ashwood had no idea where the Blakesley mansion was located, nor how long will it take. He only had a vague feeling that, no matter what, the journey will not necessarily be one of the pleasant ones. He had spent enough time with Keira to know when she was pissed off, or at least close to being pissed off, because, if being honest, Ashwood doubted whether she was capable of such strong emotions.

First ten minutes went by listening to old Metallica album - music that Keira settled with after muttering insulting words about his taste. But then another ten went by, and another five. And Ashwood broke.

"Is this mansion of yours located in this country? Or are you taking me somewhere-"

"I'm not kidnapping you."

Ashwood rolled his eyes. "Sure. But are we close?"

Silence.

Even more silence followed up before Keira's slightly hoarse voice spoke. "This is a nice car."

"Seriously? After half an hour of the silent treatment, you want to speak about cars?"

A normal person at this point would have raised his eyebrows, but Ashwood knew better - Keira's face stayed stony, completely paralyzed. "Don't men love when others praise their expensive cars?"

"It makes me think you _want_ me to be pleased. Are you feeling alright, ma'am?"

She did not answer. He was not expecting her to. "Look, if we are having a conversation, you've got to say something. Otherwise, it won't be a conversation."

"Would you prefer to talk about anything else, not your car?"

Ashwood nodded in the dark. "That's better. You're making progress." He had a feeling she wanted badly to make him collide with the door by turning the car to the side abruptly, but luckily for him, the road was straight, like drawn with a ruler. "To answer your question, there are a few topics I'd like to discuss."

"I'm listening."

"No, you're _participating_, not just listening. Why did you curse in Hebrew?"

"It sounded innovative."

"Okay." He nodded again, hidden from Keira's light brown eyes. "Where did you hear those words?"

The woman was quiet for a moment. "Google?"

"Sure. Why don't I believe you?"

"I have no idea, soldier. On Google, you can find how to make a bomb, how to cook tender chicken and everything in between."

"And the mightly C.E.O. surely spends her time looking up foreign curses. Have you been to Israel before?"

"Have _you_ been to Israel before?"

"It's rude to answer a question with a question. In high-pressure situations, people do - or say - things that do not require much thinking and are familiar. Our brain doesn't have the time to search for exotic profanities."

"A rat running at you is not a high-pressure situation. Can we change the topic? If we want to discuss all of them, I assume there is quite much to say. We can give approximately five minutes to each." She was probably right. The highway morphed into a less-used road, trees and bushes hiding the far horizon from Ashwood's eyes.

The man turned off the radio. They were surrounded by quietness before he asked. "Are you and Eros in a domesticated relationship?"

"We could be married, for all you know."

"Sure. Kneading strangers' cocks in front of a tavern is definitely a part of marital life."

And then she laughed. The talking statue, frozen from the inside out, laughed.

Keira did have a beautiful laugh. Not a Hollywood bell-like giggle, but also not a laugh that could be confused with a dog barking. It was something in-between, yet far from average. Ashwood knew he would be able to distinguish her laugh from a crowd because a hint of something wild and dangerous was hidden in that quiet, throaty sound.

"Why not?" Keira finally asked, only a hint of the previous amusement left in her cool tone. "Monogamous relationships get boring easily. Why not spice them up with strangers? Why not explore further possibilities, unknown fields, various sizes and forms? If there is a mutual agreement, why can't I experience the feel of a different male inside me while my husband thrusts his penis inside a more exotic vagina? After all, it's me who makes him breakfast, and it's him who sleeps in my bed at night."

"You wouldn't be jealous?"

"No. I'm not someone who gets insecure easily. Jealousy comes from our personal insecurities. Not from something that our significant other does."

"I haven't thought about it." Ashwood mused loudly, receiving an examining look from the woman besides.

"That's probably because you haven't had the time for such pondering. You've been in the army since you were nineteen. Even if you had been dating someone back then, nineteen-year-olds don't usually analyze their philosophical beliefs. Later in your life, I assume you were too busy trying to lose your limbs. And then, even if you changed the girl you sleep with every other week since coming back from the military, a twenty-six-years old man is not someone who spends time thinking whether he would like his wife to be fucked by his best friend."

"It's quite a word diarrhoea that you just spilt here, ma'am." Ashwood tried to tease her to hide the fact that Keira indeed hit the jackpot with her assumptions. Whatever file she'd found back in the tavern, it must have been comprehensive.

"I'm sorry. I forgot I speak to an infant."

It was his time to laugh, her words not hurting as they should have. "Well, I admit I'm not as old and experienced as you are. Wisdom comes with age, as they say." In the dim light from the moon above, he noticed Keira's knuckles on the steering wheel going white. She did not like being called old, he assumed. _Women and their fear of ageing..._ "Hey, it's not a bad thing."

"_Next_ topic."

"Wait, no. I'm sorry I called you old. You're not old. You don't look old. I wouldn't give you a day over twenty. Well, maybe twenty-five, but no more. Seriously. I mean it." Ashwood's words were sincere, but it was Keira he was talking to. The warmest, most honest speech would shatter when it hit the frozen wall surrounding her persona. But for some unknown reason, compelled by his own madness, or under whatever otherworldly spell cast on him, Ashwood wanted, he craved badly to make things _better_. _Better_, despite not knowing exactly what that one single word meant.

He sighed. Why were women so difficult? One bad combination of words and the previously light mood darkened to the colour seen only in the deepest abyss. Was Clara this difficult, too? She had her ups and downs. Because he knew the commander by heart due to their history in the army, Ashwood was aware of how to deal with her mood swings. He knew what to do to make things _better_.

Keira Blakesley was not an entirely different creature. Clara never wore her heart on her sleeve, neither does the woman sitting next to him. But she was cold. Much colder and distant than Clara had ever been. The commander, who spent many years as a military figure, was used to naming her disappointments and demanding what was needed. Keira, on the other hand, demanded as much as Clara did, but almost never phrased what was wrong. People had to use their common sense to figure this out.

To be good at the game of guessing, one has to know the person well. Unfortunately for Ashwood, he met Keira four hours ago. Although things have been progressing at the speed of light (because who gets an invitation to sleep in a stranger's house after four hours of acquaintance?), he still had no idea how to approach the sulking woman. Especially on a topic of _ageing_. And he only _guessed_ she was upset. With Keira's lack of facial expressions and intonation, you never know whether she's excited or furious.

"Ms K.," The man started in a gentle voice. Keira did not respond, but he knew she was listening - the woman's noble head tilted a fraction to her right, where Ashwood was sitting. "If you had not indicated with your words that you are indeed older than my juvenile self, I'd never have guessed you might have a year or two on me. But you confuse me, Ms K. Why would it matter if you were older than me? Can't two people have a conversation on certain topics if the woman is older than the man? If it's my age, I'm far from being a child, you should know that." He waited. So long Ashwood almost admitted defeat, his approach not working.

When her husky voice finally invaded the small space, it was still... Cold. But cold like an early spring morning, when winter has yet to disappear, but there's already a promise of the upcoming warmth. "I don't think you're a _child_, soldier." And then she fell quiet again.

The man raised his eyebrows. "Will there be a sequel? I think I prefered you when you were talkative. When using verbal sounds it's easier to communicate."

Keira did not laugh this time. Her fingers started drumming the steering wheel. In her non-verbal language, it was almost equal to a laugh, he assumed. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Probably an explanation of why your age bothers you is a good start."

"It does not bother me."

"Well, it does. Are you fifty-something?" He felt the sting of her frozen glare.

"You know better than me. We're home."

Home? When did they get there? Was their conversation over? That's it? A pang of disappointment shot through Ashwood's chest. When things started flowing his way again, the bloody road had to come to an end.

Before he could say anything, persuade Keira to have another short trip to the edge of the world, a bright light blinded him for a short moment. Ashwood thought he heard a low curse, but then the door slammed shut, drowning him in darkness. She was gone.

_Next_ _time_, the man promised himself while getting out,_ next time he will get even more answers_. Ashwood was a patient man. He knew the virtue of waiting.

His thoughts and self-encouragement were thrown away the moment he got a good look at the place Keira brought him to. The mansion was more suitable to be called a museum rather than somebody's home. Ashwood's eyes darted from the huge, very much classical building to the woman standing on top of a small flight of stairs, a dark figure in the bone-white background.

The man cleared his throat, nearing the entrance carefully. "When you said 'home', I imagined something a little... Homier. Not a modernized mansion from the Ancient Greek in the middle of a forest."

"My father had an unexplained obsession with seventeenth-century architecture. Blame him." Keira glanced at the building over her shoulder almost - a keyword _almost_ \- uncomfortably. "I re-did the inside when first came back after my... Departure. But to change the exterior at that time was too expensive even for me. I can do that now, but James grew fond of those gargoyles." She motioned to the stone carvings decorating the walls, clearly visible in the moonlight.

"I like them, too." He honestly did. The statues were professionally-made, a little macabre, but beautiful in their own twisted way. "But I don't know what your father was thinking when he decided to decorate a living house with art that is suitable for a public museum."

"Clearly he was not thinking at all. The inside is better."

"Because _you_ did it?" Ashwood grinned at the tall woman next to him. She easily reached the middle of his face, and he was not a short man. Without heels, Keira had to be at least 5'9.

She gave him a dismissive look, her hands disappearing behind her back. "No. Because it _is _decorated better."

It sort of... Wasn't. Mainly because it was not decorated at all. As soon as Keira opened the large, heavy-looking door, Ashwood was met with a soft glow coming from the hall, illuminating a surprisingly empty area. Grey walls, blue coming through in some places, a few abstract art paintings visible from where he stood, and... That's it. Hall, the most important and presentable part of the building, was nearly empty and unwelcoming, sanitary clean. Cold. Not resembling home at all. Old wooden floor probably was the most beautiful thing in the whole area. And the smell. Keira's house, most likely as a result of her being a perfumer, had a pleasant scent. But that's it. A museum without exhibition.

Ashwood was ready to comment on the lack of character in the room when he heard noises coming from above. Laugh, to be more specific.

"They had a successful hunt." Keira commented, also looking upwards.

"Why do you think so? They could be laughing-"

"They were successful because they _are_ laughing. You don't make a noise when you're hunting animals. Besides, my dogs are taught not to leave prey. They're not coming as they're guarding the kill. At least Cronus is."

"That's quite an impressive name for a small rat."

Keira did not respond. The woman simply stood in the middle of the hall, the only interesting thing in the whole hall, and stared patiently at the flight of stairs going up, which Ashwood did not notice before. This meant he actually had some time to examine the woman, who stood still as a statue, illuminated from all sides by the dimmed light coming from wall lamps.

She was beautiful, but not in a classical way. There was no gentle refinement in her features or her stance, her posture. Keira's face was flawless, without a single line or unwanted pigmentation, no freckles or scars, skin smooth and with a slight bronze tint to it. But at the same time, entwined deep in her harsh, carved beauty, was something cold and unapproachable. Repugnant. It was not a girl a man would approach easily for a one-night stand. She was a woman who demanded to be dealt with respect and carefulness. Not for her own good, but the wellness of the approacher.

With her hands folded behind her back, Keira looked almost relaxed. Her proud shoulders underneath the heavy coat were less tense than before. Only then Ashwood remembered it would have been polite to come closer and offer to take the woman's coat.

With the first step closer to Keira, heavy growls, filled with threat, pierced the empty room. The sound did not come from above, no, it came from behind Ashwood.

"_Madadh-allaidh,_" A gentle, feminine voice reached the man's ears just before the animal behind him started to whine, the previous threat disappearing without a trace. "_na bi a 'bìdeadh do mo charaid._"

Ashwood turned, coming eye-to-eye with something huge, something grey and pelted, and something that belonged in children's nightmares, not in reality. Something that slowly neared them, or Keira, to be more specific, while the woman murmured sweetly to the beast in a foreign language.

"Is this... One of your... _Dogs_?" Disbelief coloured Ashwood's voice, staring at the enormous creature at Keira's heeled feet.

"Yes. One of my precious little boys." In an unrecognizable tone, the frozen woman murmured gently while bending down to scratch the beast's ears. "_Balach math_. _Math_._ Mo chuilean, mo luaidh._"

The man carefully approached them, watching the animal warily. "Where are the other ones? I wouldn't want to run into these... Dogs... Alone."

"Cronus, he's with James, I presume, who should be with Scott. Wolf here, he's a sweetheart, such a gentle dog. Cronus is a bit more playful, has a better-developed hunter's instinct, therefore he won't leave the rodent."

"Right. A sweetheart. He definitely didn't want to bite my leg off."

"Of course he didn't. Don't be a child. Wolf is a gentle, kind dog. Would die for you if you were worth his loyalty." Keira, the _old_ Keira, was back, looking at Ashwood with cold, calculating eyes.

"Does this gentle dog have a breed? Or was he transported straight out of heaven?"

"They're Irish wolfhounds."

"What were you saying to him?"

She stared at him for a moment, whiskey-coloured eyes reflecting the yellow light from the lamps. "It's strange you understand Hebrew profanities, but not your mother's tongue."

Ashwood raised his eyebrows. "So it was Gaelic? You're talking Scottish to an Irish dog?"

"Scotland, Ireland, isn't it the same?"

He smiled, amused by her not-a-joke type of joke. After all, Gaelic-speakers did indeed inhabit Scotland from Northern Ireland. "What did you say to him?"

"I encouraged him to bite your leg off." She turned, going straight to the stairs, the dog trailing behind. "Come, soldier. Let's find you a room."

_Song of the chapter: Black Sabbath - Heaven And Hell_


	6. I Win, But You Do, Too

Keira was restless. On a normal day (night, keeping in mind it was almost midnight) she would have assumed it was due to exposure to extra-stimulating smells, like sandalwood or peppermint. Except, the possibility of it was equal to a perfectly round zero - the perfumer did not touch a single note since she gave Eros her newest experimental fragrance.

Then there also could be the fact she was naturally more of a night person, and her brain was trained to work extra hard on the dark hours. Restlessness by habit? Hardly. The woman had no problems maintaining both a calm exterior and interior most of the days. Under normal circumstances, _she_ was the dictator of her bodily reactions.

And then, there was the man. A stranger she invited in her father's mansion without a second thought. Well, without a _third_ thought, to be precise. Because Keira did always think twice, but before considering taking any risks, she also analyzed her decisions for the third and fourth times. _Always_. But why did it seem her _always_ failed her this time? Was Keira's _forever_ doomed to die painfully, too? What has she gotten herself into?

Half an hour ago, she dropped the soldier in one of many spare bedrooms and hurried away as soon as he turned his back to her. The perfumer would have closed (and locked, just in case) the door behind her, but Wolf seemed overly interested in the newcomer. She left the dog sniffing Ashwood's bags, which they retrieved from his car before searching for the bedroom. Perhaps he hid methamphetamine in there? Weed? Keira's wolfhounds were not trained to detect drugs, but it was Canada, where you can grow cannabis in a pot. They were used to the earthy aroma of burning hashish.

Thinking about the man, she probably should have shown him around the mansion, told where the kitchen was. The cooks were already sleeping, but they had prepared a meal for her and Eros before retreating to the servants' building. He must be hungry, she mused. But then, the man was a soldier. A military person should know how to find a way in a tricky new place. He will manage unless Ashwood wants to lose Keira's respect.

She was not hungry. That's why Keira found herself in the billiard room, sitting on a leather sofa with a bottle of whiskey tucked underneath the arm. There were no glasses in the basement where all the liquors were kept, so the woman was forced to gulp it straight from the bottle. She did not complain, though. Keira was used to mannerless behaviour.

With a barely-there sigh, she stood up and manoeuvred towards the set-up table. Keira enjoyed playing billiard. A lot. At cold nights like this, when no inspiration was present, the perfumer spent her time competing against herself, trying to outsmart her mind. Only sometimes Eros did join her - the man was not a fan of the game, despite being acceptably good at it. Probably because he hated losing. James always lost when playing against her.

Keira bent over the table and focused. She stared at the small white ball, cue balancing on her thumb and index finger. "Stripes," She murmured underneath her breath, hitting the white object gently, yet deadly. "stripes begin this time."

A yellow ball flew into the pocket without even touching the barrier. Her aim was flawless. Perfect. She oathed perfection as much as she craved it. That's what happens when you spend your whole life seeking complete and total refinement but have the inkling realization you will never reach the same level of development to call yourself a perfect creature.

A blood-red stripes ball flew into another pocket, sending the white ball to the side due to tremendous impact. It barely missed the black ball, colliding with a wall and moving back towards the centre.

Keira moved around, taking in the newly set game, analyzing her possibilities. Not taking gaze off the board, she reached for the full bottle, unscrewed the lid and took her first sip of the golden liquid. It burned its way down her throat, the distinct flavour of mint chocolate and walnuts lingering on the woman's tongue, quickly morphing into an aftertaste of orange. If Keira had not developed the steel-like control of her own body, she would have moaned loudly, announcing the world the level of her pleasure. Instead, she opted for closing her eyes, blocking the view of the disordered board.

"Your dinner options are very intriguing, Ms K."

Keira's eyes snapped open. The woman _knew_ she should have locked the door. She _knew_ that deep in her guts. She will _never_ _again_ silence the voice of common sense, her _personalized_ common sense.

The moment his voice went silent, a masculine cologne hit the perfumer's nose - a scent that seemed to cling to his skin, a fragrance she noticed the first minute in his presence back in the tavern. It was not a compliment-hunter, quite far from the ones she knew young men tended to use. Keira had constructed a few of such kind, she knew what notes were present in them. Whatever nose was behind this specific perfume, the creator was not a crowd-pleaser.

Keira felt a presence behind her, and then the soldier came into view. The man moved to the other side of the table, slamming a tray full of food on top, sending few balls to the sides. His lake-blue eyes were thunderous, trying to intimidate, to dominate Keira, who wanted to smirk badly at such a demonstration of alpha male's attitude. Yet, her face stayed stoic. The woman's lips did not twitch, her eyes boring into the man unblinkingly. Until her gaze went down, disbelief invading her perfectly controlled mind.

"Why are you parading my house half-naked?" She stared at his bare, hairless chest, raised clavicles above perfectly developed pecs, a dog tag in between them, protruding deltoid caps, biceps with a prominent vein in the middle of each of them, her judging gaze moving downwards, where the segmented rectus abdominis muscle was attached to the lower ribs. And lower. _Lower_.

Ashwood cleared his throat. "Will you stop that?"

Keira lazily lifted her amber eyes, taking in the way skin on his upper chest got a rosy tint to the pale colour. "If you're presenting yourself as one of the granite specimens standing in the backyard, I will look at you as one. Is shaving your body hair a habit you develop in the army, or is this a personal preference?"

Crimson tainted Ashwood's neck, quickly making its way to the man's sharp jaw and hollow cheeks. His intelligent eyes widened, and Keira wanted to grin, laugh like a madwoman. She did not. Her calmness was unnerving.

He ignored her question. "I'm not trying to present myself as a granite statue. Your dog tore my shirt in half when I refused to give him a bite of beef ragu. Before I could go and fetch another one from my bag, Eros, who was _polite_ _enough_ to offer me something to eat," here his eyes flashed with an angry flame. "mentioned he hadn't seen you around. He asked me if I could take this trail to 'second room on your left in the third floor', because 'she most likely is in the game room poking holes and drinking away her sorrows'."

"I'm not drinking away my sorrows."

"Well, it's his words, not mine." Ashwood rolled his eyes, leaning forward and crossing arms over his wide chest.

They remained silent for a minute, until the quietness extended for too long for Keira to consider it as a meaningful period for thinking, and not a waste of time. "Is there anything else you are here for? I do not appreciate you-"

"Wasting your time, I know." He nodded, finishing her sentence.

Keira pressed her lips in a thin line, gently drumming with her long fingers on the table. "I'm not a patient woman, soldier."

"I noticed that much. I'm waiting for you to eat this food."

"I'm not hungry. You can have it if James interrupted your dinner." Keira glimpsed at the tray, seeing various cheeses, green olives and thinly sliced ham placed neatly on top.

"Whiskey is not a proper meal for a fully-grown woman."

"Because I _am_ a fully-grown woman, I can have both ice cream for breakfast and whiskey for dinner. That's the beauty of being an adult."

"You're incorrigible."

"You've already said that." _Cinnamon. There was a lot of cinnamon in his cologne. And sandalwood. Tobacco. Vanilla?_ She assumed those were the base notes unless he re-applied the perfume before coming here. Furthermore, it's not common to use such strong scents as the top or even middle notes.

His beautiful face twisted with a scowl. Ashwood opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. His blue-green eyes moved from the stoic woman towards the table, balls all over it, and then back to Keira. "Do you have a second cue?"

"Behind you."

He turned around, fetching the tool from a wooden stove keeping them upright, and came back in front of her. "Let's make a deal."

"It's a proposition one would offer to a demon in exchange of his soul."

"You do remind me of a demon."

Keira's arched eyebrows rose a millimetre. "I will ignore your attitude. What kind of deal?"

Ashwood stroked his glass-cutting jaw, his eyes taking in the tall woman on the other side of the board. "Eros enlightened me with a thing or two."

"This is a shady-sounding deal, soldier."

"I'm presenting you with bait to make you less reluctant to make the deal."

"By wasting my precious time. Please go on."

The man rolled his eyes. "I will play with you."

"The cue in your hand says that much. Unless, of course, you wanted to use it as a defence tool."

"Every time I score, you will ingest something from the food tray."

"Are you sure you are in the place to demand-"

Ashwood held his hands, silencing the woman. "Yes, because you were deprived of good opponents for too long. Also, while you are eating, I give you a question that you will answer while I contemplate my next movement."

Keira's fingers drummed the board more vigorously. "Did by any chance James show you where the basement is? Or presented you with his cannabis collection?"

"No?" The question was clear in Ashwood's tone.

"Your words indicate a certain degree of delusion."

"Does it mean we have a deal?" He grinned, not a trace of the previously embarrassed boy standing in front of her.

Keira did not answer immediately, debating whether such a stupid idea is worth a try. It was true she did not have a worthy playing partner in a while. But nobody guaranteed he _was_ a good player.

Had she anything to lose? Was saying a word or two on whatever topic he was interested in really a price she was not capable of paying in exchange for a competitive match?

Keira's answer was clear when she bent down, searching for the two previously potted stripes balls. After retrieving them, the perfumer put all balls in a perfect triangle at the end of the board, nodding for Ashwood to start, to hit the white ball.

He scored with the beginning hit, grinning widely at glaring Keira. "You're solids." He bent down again, aiming for a purple stripes ball, almost missing the corner pocket.

Keira's heart thudded inside her chest with excitement... And then disappointment. He managed not to fail.

"Perfect. First question. Let's start with an easy one." His hand scratched the shapely jaw in mock thinking. "How old are you?"

"Thirty."

Ashwood nodded. "Good. I think I can trust you not to lie." Answering her penetrating look, he added. "I already asked Eros a few things, your age being one of them. Had to make sure you will not lie. And that you _aren't_ fifty-five." His cue hit the white ball again, sending another one, yellow-coloured, straight to the middle pocket. "Next. Who is Eros? Or James, as you call him."

This time, Keira lifted her eyebrows, creating the tiniest crease on her forehead. "Does he seem suspicious to you?"

"No."

"Then why are you asking who James is?"

"Because he's shady."

Keira nodded, reaching for olive and throwing it inside her mouth. She did not speak before the piece was thoroughly chewed and swallowed. "It's not my place to tell you James's secrets, soldier. As an honourable man, you have to get the answers from the secret bearer himself."

"I was not expecting a different answer. Who is he to you?"

"A handyman. An assistant. Sometimes I'm keen to believe he is my friend, but I'm reluctant to jump to conclusions."

"Domestic relationship?"

"That, too. This mansion is bigger than I need a house to be, plenty of space for more than one person to stay in. Besides, I have a constant supply of his services at any time of the day when he sleeps in the same building."

"So you are abusing him. I see." Ashwood ignored Keira's dagger-like glare, focusing on his next move instead. He was too good at this game for his own sake. "Next. Why were you angry in the car?"

"I was not."

"You were. Why is the topic of age so touchy? Four years is not a lot, Keira."

This time, the woman reached for a piece of cheese, a delicately sliced Camembert, letting its soft creaminess melt on her hot tongue. She was not sure how to address the question.

Ashwood sensed her hesitation, moving a little closer, curious yet kind fire burning in his bright orbs. "Don't answer if it's too personal. I will think of another one."

"And leave you with the freedom of prying even deeper inside me?" The woman shot back. "Age was of huge importance in my family for generations. The older husband always teaches his younger wife. Marriage was arranged the day a girl was born. With a man she is sent to at the age of eighteen, without necessarily seeing him first. My fiance _disappeared_ the moment I got a whiff of him. It does not mean I was not taught to respect and listen to an older male. In the car, our roles were reversed. I told you how one should live, and not the other way around. It's been twelve years since I last saw my father, but his training remained in my mind much longer than I would have liked."

"But you're a C.E.O., an entrepreneur. How's that not commanding others who are older than you?"

"It's not a personal thing. Besides, I was working hard on breaking my old habits. It does not mean they do not lurk hidden in the shadows of my mind. Hurry up."

The man nodded slowly, reaching for a piece of cheese himself. "I see." He hit the white ball, sending a crimson-coloured ball inside a pocket closest to Keira.

She felt something close to annoyance surfacing and yet was powerless to do anything. All of a sudden the woman started hating this stupid game and the deal she made with an actual demon. Devil himself, if she wanted to be as precise as possible. The soldier was full of curiosity. But instead of directing his sharp mind towards something useful, Ashwood decided to pry _her_ soul open.

"It turns out luck is favouring me today."

"You're a fortunate man, Mr Mallory." Keira inwardly cringed hearing her own voice. There was too much fire in her tone. Too much emotion. She needed to get a grip on it sooner than later.

"I know. Next." The male was getting cocky, enjoying the upcoming victory. A double victory, getting the title of the winner, and also getting more than enough answers from Keira. "Why did you become a perfumer?"

"Because I was good at chemistry. And it was interesting how various notes could affect living organisms."

"Like turning men gay?"

"Yes." She nodded, following the white ball moving through the board, almost missing a blue stripes ball. Almost. Bloody _almost_. Her chest was burning with rage Keira did not feel in years. "_Six_." She hissed through her teeth, bringing a bright grin to his handsome, youthful face.

Suddenly, an olive was flying towards her. Had she not have her superior reflexes, it would have hit Keira in the head. The small green thing ended up clutched in the woman's hand, rolled between thumb and index finger.

"Good." Ashwood nodded. "Why are you so experienced in... Jumping?"

"_Jumping_?"

"Avoiding collision."

"My life did not start in an office on the top of the world, soldier."

"This is sort of a vague answer, Ms K."

"The only one you will get."

Ashwood moved to stand right beside Keira, trying to find the best position for his second to the last hit. The man's naked skin was close enough to cast a wave of heat, giving the perfumer another hit of the fragrance. _A hint of leather and dissipating note of Damask rose._ At least she got enough hints to guess his cologne. Otherwise, her upcoming loss would have not had a bright side.

He missed. The ball bounced off the wall, barely missing the pocket.

Keira smiled. A malicious smirk, showing her teeth, promising sweet, sweet revenge. She bent, her amber eyes focused on the white object in the middle of the board. With a professional hit, she sent two solids balls to different pockets, keeping an eye on the black ball, already planning how she will get it inside.

Four effortless hits, two and one-one-one, and Keira was already enjoying the ambrosial taste of her victory. Because it was guaranteed. _It is guaranteed_, she mused calmly, following the black ball slowly roll towards the pocket closest to Ashwood. Before it could fall, the man snatched it from the board.

Their gazes met - a blue-green, the shade of a bottomless lake, and amber, the colour of aged whiskey. One warm, accepting and intelligent, the other cold, judging and analytical.

"I think it was a good match." His soft, deep voice broke the silence. "Pity you did not win this time." Ashwood grinned, throwing the ball in the air and catching it, teasing Keira with her unreached victory.

"Didn't I?"

"It seems no, you didn't."

Keira was quiet for a moment, tapping with her fingers on the board, her gaze lowered and nostrils flaring. When the perfumer caught Ashwood's eyes again, the yellow orbs were indeed victorious, glinting like the ones of a wild animal. "Egoiste by Chanel. This is a strange choice of perfume, soldier."

_Song of the chapter: Lord Huron - The Night We Met_


End file.
